


Aces & Eighteens

by koinekid



Series: Making Amends [4]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Becoming a better person, F/M, Forgiveness, Love, Regret, Rescue, Seeking forgiveness, Shoplifting, coming to terms, making amends, making your daughter proud, western wear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-16 09:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17546996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koinekid/pseuds/koinekid
Summary: To make her daughter proud, Eighteen seeks to atone for past crimes.





	Aces & Eighteens

**Author's Note:**

> Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended.
> 
> This story is a direct sequel to "Yippee Ki-yay," starting a few minutes after that story ends.

“What were you and Papa doing in there?”

Eighteen scooped her daughter into her arms and nuzzled her cheek. It had been a close call. A tiny knock sounded at her and Krillin’s bedroom door while they were in the throes of passion. They tried to be quiet while sneaking a few minutes of love before their daughter awoke, but inevitably, little moans and giggles escaped—not to mention louder sounds when they really got into it. And Marron had ears like a hawk. Fortunately, they were almost finished with their toe-curling session when the knock came, and Eighteen swallowed Krillin’s cries of passion with a kiss. She missed the cuddling afterward, but both understood the need to tend to their daughter. Dressing quickly in her only clean clothes—the dreaded western wear—Eighteen splashed on some perfume and met their daughter at the door.

“Papa and I were playing.”

“I want to play.”

“What should we play?”

Marron toyed with the fringe on her mama’s vest. “Cowboys.”

“How do we play?”

Marron screwed up her face. “I don’t know.”

Eighteen thought back to the black-and-white western she and Krillin watched the previous month. She paid it little attention, but Krillin was absorbed, so she didn’t ask him to change it. _Ah._ “The first thing a cowboy does is eat breakfast.”

Marron eyed her skeptically. “What do they eat?”

Eighteen considered what they had in the pantry. “Oatmeal.”

“Do they eat it with honey?”

“Every morning.”

Marron grinned. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Marron shrieked through the house, fleeing from _the blonde bandit_. Pulling down the red bandanna hiding her face, Eighteen shushed her daughter. “Let’s play quietly, Sheriff. Papa needs his sleep.”

Living in their own home gave Eighteen a freedom to interact with her daughter she never felt in Kame House. Even when her family managed to be alone on the island, her discomfort in knowing Roshi and Oolong could return at any moment made her awkward. But here she could cut loose, and her and Marron’s relationship blossomed.

“Why does Papa have to sleep all day? He should be playing with us.”

Eighteen smiled. Krillin would forgo sleep to play with his girls if she asked him, which is exactly why she didn’t. She sat on the couch and beckoned her daughter to join her. “Your papa needs to be well-rested when he catches the bad guys tonight.”

Marron snuggled into her lap. “Why can’t he catch them during the day? Don’t bad guys have to sleep too?”

Eighteen tousled her daughter’s hair. Marron always liked it when Krillin did that. Untying the bandanna, Eighteen handed it to Marron, who clutched it like a security blanket. When Seventeen left it behind during his last visit, Marron claimed it as her own, generously lending it to Mama to complete her bandit look. The familiarity she felt tying it on made Eighteen uncomfortable.

When Marron began tugging on her mama’s fringe once more, affection for the previously hated clothes spread through Eighteen. She still wouldn’t wear them in public, but at home, yeah. Role play certainly spiced things up for her and Krillin this morning, and any garment that led to more hugs with her daughter was okay by her.

With these good feelings came unexpected guilt as she realized that the clothes were still technically stolen property. She’d never made things right with the store owner from whom she’d taken them.

But Eighteen had stolen so much in her life. She couldn’t be expected to make restitution with everyone she’d wronged—even if she could remember who they were. She’d nearly tamped down her guilt when Marron asked, “Mama, were you ever a cowboy?”

Eighteen shook her head.

“Then where’d you get these neat clothes?”

“I…” She looked into her daughter’s innocent, trusting eyes. Maybe she couldn’t make everything right, but she could make _this_ right. She held Marron close to hide the tears that threatened to spill.

 

* * *

 

The store was more rundown than she remembered. Cracks were visible in the masonry, and paint had chipped off the walls and not been replaced. Nine years had passed since her first visit to the store, but Eighteen was taking no chances on being recognized. She wore a knee-length raincoat cinched at the waist, a pair of dark shades, and—tying back her distinctive blonde mane—her brother’s bandanna. Once she confessed her misdeeds and her intention to pay for the stolen clothes, Marron proudly kissed Mama’s cheek and insisted she borrow it for luck.

Securing a babysitter for her daughter proved easy even last minute, though “Aunt Videl” got more than she bargained for. From the moment she arrived, Marron talked her ear off about Mama’s good deed. Eighteen would have preferred no one else know about her plan—she wasn’t even going to tell Krillin—but her daughter’s praise warmed her heart and silenced her protests. How a former juvenile delinquent could become the object of such adoration from _two_ wonderful people still amazed her.

As she pretended to browse the leather wallets near the cash register, she discretely scanned the store for security cameras. Any video footage of her previous crime should have been destroyed already, but old habits die hard, and she found herself approaching this visit with as much care as one of her old shoplifting capers.

Doing so steadied her nerves, rattled by the owner’s enthusiastic _Howdy, Missy!_ when the whoosh of the automatic door announced her entry. His attention quickly returned to his only other customer, an elderly man dithering over the purchase of a white cowboy hat, but Eighteen was spooked already. News headlines proclaiming _Cop_ _’s Wife Arrested_ and _Family Disgraced_ danced in front of her eyes. Only the fear of disappointing Marron kept her from turning tail and tossing a wad of cash over her shoulder as she fled.

A happy family greeted her as she flipped open one of the wallets. Smiling at the sample picture, she thought about buying the wallet for Krillin. She finished Christmas shopping weeks ago, but a little something extra never hurt. He was always buying gifts for her and Marron, after all.

Eighteen returned the wallet to the display; it was too inexpensive. Her plan called for purchasing a single, moderately priced item and distracting the cashier while she left an extra ten thousand zeni note—more than enough to pay for the stolen clothes—with her payment on the counter. A cheap item would make the purchase look like a cover, and multiple items invited extra attention when ringing up the total. But a mid-priced item encouraged the clerk to scan and move on.

She and her brother used to pull the same trick in reverse. One would underpay for an item, call out _Keep the change_ , and breeze toward the exit, while the other created a diversion. By the time anyone noticed a discrepancy in the till, both would be long gone. It would feel good to put one of their old cons to good use for a change.

Searching the racks for a suitably priced shirt in Krillin’s size caused her to blush as she considered the fun they might have stepping up their role play. She shook her head to banish the thought. She needed to focus on her mission, not daydream about her husband.

Buying an outfit for Marron was similarly out of the question. Eighteen tended to overspend where her daughter was concerned, and paying for Marron’s items separately with a credit card would draw the very attention she sought to avoid. It would also create a record of her visit.

As she debated her options, she barely noticed her fellow customer shuffle by. Only when the door opened did she realize that the old man hadn’t visited the register. The owner, meanwhile, remained where his customer left him, slump-shouldered and returning the hat to its shelf.

His behavior when she exited the store years earlier had been markedly different. But then, it was only natural to pursue a thief into the street, especially one who brazenly mocked the fact that she had no intention of paying. She took pleasure then at his frustration while banging on the window of her brother’s stolen van. Now, she felt only shame as the man busied himself brushing imaginary dust from the crown of the unsold hat.

On impulse, she stepped toward him. “I’ll take it.”

The owner turned, giving her a peculiar look. Eighteen held her breath, quickly losing confidence in her disguise. Then a smile broke out on his face. “I don’t see many folks your age interested in western wear.”

She shrugged. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

“True.” He laughed heartily. “But, Miss, this hat is much too big for you. Let’s find another—”

“No!”

The owner blinked at her outburst.

Eighteen thought quickly. “The hat is…for my grandfather. He’s the same size as the old man who just left.”

“It may look that way, but hat sizes are tricky. It’s best to bring Gramps in for a custom fit.”

Removing her shades, Eighteen massaged the area between her eyes. Was this guy trying to blow a sale? No wonder his business was circling the drain. “If it doesn't fit, I’ll return it.”

The man went stone-faced. “All sales are final.”

She gritted her teeth. “Understood. I’ll chance it.”

“Are you sure? I have a great selection of wallets and belts, or if you know his shirt size—”

“Grandpa wants a hat. I’m buying him a hat!”

The owner raised his hands in surrender, but he wasn’t finished yet. Retrieving the hat from the shelf, he began to list its attributes: top quality wool felt construction, leather sweatband, twisted leather exterior band, and—“Check this out.” He flipped the hat over to display the lining, on which was printed a full-color illustration of a cowboy watering his horse.

“It’s perfect. Can we…?” Eighteen gestured in the direction of the register.

“Of course.” He took a step, then paused. “I also have the hat in black if he’d prefer.”

“White is fine.”

“It’s silver belly, actually—a very popular color for cowboy hats.”

Eighteen sighed. “Close enough.”

At the register, she declined to purchase a hat box or message card and vigorously shook her head when he indicated her wedding band and asked, “Something for your spouse, perhaps?” When he finally announced the total—just over 9,600 zeni—she practically slammed the two bank notes on the counter before snatching the bag containing the hat and stalking to the door.

“Miss!”

“Keep the change,” she snarled, loosening the knot on the bandanna as she went. All she wanted was to get home and put this incredibly annoying good deed behind her.

Before she could exit, however, a hand clamped on her arm and spun her around. The owner’s irritated face appeared in her field of vision. “Missy, you didn’t pay enough. See?”

He held up the cash, and Eighteen grimaced. Each note was missing a zero. She could have sworn she plunked down twenty thousand zeni, not two thousand.

Lowering her bag to the floor, she opened her raincoat to reach the wallet in her skirt pocket, unintentionally revealing the western clothes she still wore beneath. Too late, she realized her mistake.

“You?” The man adjusted his glasses. “You’re the thief from before.”

Eighteen glanced down at her clothes, cursing herself for being too impatient to finish the laundry before she left home. “No, I mean, yes, but—”

“I’m calling the police.” He dug a cheap cell phone out of his pocket.

“There’s no need. Here, I’m paying.” She held out the money she originally intended to offer.

“That’s double what you owe. Are you trying to bribe me?”

“Bribe? No, it’s—my daughter—I wanted to—”

“Now you’re bringing your kid into it? That’s low, lady, even for a thief like you.” He punched numbers into the keypad as he spoke. “I bet you’re not even married. That ring is just a ruse to gain my sympathy. Hello, police? I’m being robbed—”

“Stop it!” Her hand shot out and snatched the phone away from him. The move surprised them both. “Just let me explain.”

Glowering at her, he extended a hand. She sighed, about to give the phone back when the operator’s voice over the receiver startled her. Her hand squeezed reflexively, crushing the device in her grip.

The owner shrank back, stumbling when she moved his way. In his eyes, she saw the same fear she and her brother inspired when they terrorized cities and villages as part of the Red Ribbon Army, the same fear their alternative selves must have provoked when they were destroying the world for the thrill of it.

Eighteen shook her head, the money falling to the floor as she backed out of the store. In full view of the owner and the townsfolk outside, she took to the sky and fled. 

 

* * *

 

She'd been flying aimlessly for fifteen minutes, trying to figure out what to tell Marron and— _oh, God_ —Krillin, when she realized something was missing. Halting in midair, she checked every pocket in her raincoat and skirt. It was no use. The bandanna Marron entrusted to her was gone. She could’ve lost it at any point during her flight.

But wait, had the bandanna even been in her pocket? She remembered untying it when she was about to leave the store. Then the owner spun her around. She must have dropped it then!

The relief that flooded her dissipated almost immediately. She had to go back for it, and that meant facing the owner once more.

 

* * *

 

Eighteen could hardly believe her eyes when she landed on the roof of the building opposite the store. The police cars hovering above the street were no surprise, nor were the town cops in their dark blue uniforms interviewing witnesses, nor the owner gesticulating wildly as he described his encounter with her. The way he raised his arms above his head and growled as if relating a monster story to a child was annoying but not unexpected. What threw her was the presence, amid the sea of blue, of the unmistakable green polo of Satan City’s finest officer.

As if he could sense her—and he probably could—her husband looked up. They locked eyes, and she retreated from the edge of the roof and waited. By the time the cops dispersed and Krillin could get away, she had seated herself against the roof hatch with her eyes closed and her arms crossed protectively over her chest.

His shadow soon loomed over her, and she opened one eye in time to see him unbuckle his police helmet and set it aside. The significance of the gesture wasn’t lost on her. Krillin the cop was taking a break, so Krillin her husband could sit next to her.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she replied. “Why are you here?” The question came out harsher than she intended, but Krillin ignored her tone.

“Nakamura’s wife went into labor, so the chief called me in for an early shift.”

“Called you to a town outside your jurisdiction?”

“SCPD sometimes loans me out for special cases.”

“Like flying women terrorizing local shopkeepers,” she said bitterly.

Krillin squeezed her knee. “Tell me what happened.”

Releasing a long, shuddering sigh, she recounted the tale from Marron’s first innocent query to her own well-intentioned decision to pay for the clothes and the mess that turned into. Somewhere along the way, her arms uncrossed, and her hand sought out his.

He listened patiently, his thumb stroking her knuckles and almost making her believe everything could be okay. When she finished, he gave her hand a final squeeze and reached for his helmet.

She caught his sleeve, not ready for the cop to return. She needed her husband a moment longer.

“Eighteen?”

“Are you… are you disappointed in me?”

“Oh, baby. Never.” He pulled her into his arms and pressed a feather-light kiss to her lips. “I’m _proud_ of you.”

Their position allowed her to look up at him. “For getting us into this mess?”

“For trying to do the right thing. I won’t deny you should have gone about it differently, but your heart was in the right place.”

She frowned, unable to deny it either. A tear slid down her cheek, and Krillin drew a cloth from his pocket to wipe it away. A _red_ cloth. She gasped. “Marron’s bandanna! You found it.”

“The townies wanted to take it for evidence, but I talked them into letting me keep it.”

“How did you know it was hers?”

“Your daughter is _also_ very proud of you and wants everybody to know the whole story.”

Eighteen blanched. “Define _everybody_.”

 “When I left, she was on the phone with Goten. Videl said she’d already told Trunks and called Oolong to demand he cook you a celebration dinner.”

“Did she tell any of her classmates?”

“Videl restricted her calls to Earth’s Special Forces families.”

“Good girl.” Eighteen offered a weak smile. “She’s invited to the dinner.”

Krillin laughed. “Yeah.”

“So, what now?”

“Now, we go back to the store and explain what happened.”

“What if he still wants to press charges?”

“I can be pretty persuasive. I convinced you to go out with me, didn’t I?”

She gave him a be-serious look. “I don’t want you jeopardizing your job over this.”

“I’d rather lose it than you.”

“I mean it, Krillin. I love our life, and I don’t want to see everything we worked for disappear.”

“It won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Do you trust me?”

She handed him his helmet.

 

* * *

 

Krillin’s ease at making friends and navigating awkward social situations continually impressed her. Eighteen’s own friendships were fewer and more hard-fought, but her husband could make anyone feel cared for with a few simple words, a trait that served him well as a police officer. Even now, he was laughing and joking with the very man who wanted to see his wife incarcerated.

Granted, that man had no idea that the thief who stole from his store nine years prior had married a cop, let alone this one in particular. So far as he knew, Officer Krillin had dropped by to update him on the minutes-old investigation of today’s “theft.” She and Krillin agreed he should approach the owner first while she waited outside for a signal to join them.

By focusing her enhanced senses, she could easily follow the conversation as it occurred inside the store, and the first thing she noticed was Krillin addressing the owner, a Mr. Sekido, by name. Eighteen, intent on getting in and out without making an impression, hadn’t bothered to exchange introductions.

The second sound she noticed was Krillin tapping the security code into his phone. She insisted he set one up before sending him a few risqué _I-miss-you_ snapshots when he went away to police academy.

“I'm going to show you a few photos of the suspect,” he told Sekido.

Eighteen raised a brow, reminding herself that her husband knew better than to share _those_ pics with anyone.

“That’s her!” Sekido shouted. “Wow, that jacket has seen better days.”

Eighteen blinked. Was Krillin showing off the first photo he took of her after she moved into Kame House? That was an odd choice. In it, she wore an old, ragged coat stolen from a charity box. He gifted her with a replacement coat a few weeks later, but she kept the old one to remind herself that her stay with Krillin and his roommates would be temporary.

“Yeah.” Krillin chuckled nervously. “She’d been in a pretty rough spot when that photo was taken.”

Sekido snorted. “Had she run out of things to steal?”

Krillin declined to comment. “Let’s look at a few more to be sure.” He (presumably) swiped to the next screen.

“I’m telling you that’s her. She’s even wearing the same shirt she wore into my store.”

Eighteen shook her head. It wasn’t the same shirt, but an identical one. She left the original tattered and torn in the dressing room of this very store. If this second photo were the one she thought it was, the shirt would have been the first item she bought with money she earned legitimately.

_Hmm, I wonder._ Eighteen drew her own phone from her skirt pocket and loaded the photo app. Should the next image in the sequence turn out to be a candid shot of her reading in the kitchen at Kame House, then she had a very good idea what Krillin was showing the other man. She opened a slideshow entitled “Favorite Memories of My Girls.”

“Was this taken at juvenile hall?” Sekido asked.

“No, at the kitchen table.”

_Bingo!_ The photo depicted what was then a rare unguarded moment for Eighteen. Krillin had lent her a stack of paperbacks, and she quickly became absorbed in one of them, which allowed him to snap the photo without her noticing.

She loved this slideshow. Krillin surprised her with it their first night alone in the new house. With Marron sleeping at her godmother’s (Chi-Chi relished every opportunity to babysit her favorite little girl), her parents enjoyed a low-key evening at home: takeout dinner, dancing in their socks, and to top it off, cuddling on the couch, faces pressed intimately together, as they swiped through the memories on the small screen. Her only complaint was how few of the photos Krillin appeared in, though that was understandable since he took most of them himself.

Sekido’s voice brought her back to the present. “It’s a pity.”

_What is?_ she wanted to ask. Krillin did it for her.

“That she became a criminal. She’s a real beauty.”

Krillin agreed. Eighteen smirked. _He better._

She followed along as her husband narrated slides depicting a woman coming to grips with her living situation. In one, she glared at Roshi and Oolong; in the next, she merely rolled her eyes at their antics. There were photos of dinners with Chi-Chi and her boys, a shot of Eighteen covered in soot after a small house fire— _don_ _’t ask_ —and images of her first real date with Krillin. (He didn’t have to work all that hard at convincing her to go.)

The next photo he snapped the morning after they became engaged. Sunlight glinted off her diamond as she slept peacefully, hair fanned out on the pillow. Her old coat lay crumpled on the floor beside the bed. She tossed it out later that day.

More images followed: of Eighteen in her wedding gown, a noticeable bump in her belly and a radiant smile on her face; of her at the hospital, sweat dripping from her brow as she labored to bring their daughter into the world—no photos of the actual birth existed, Eighteen having warned Krillin that she would make herself a widow if he didn’t put his phone away. He did capture the moment she held her daughter for the first time, though.

“So she was telling the truth about the kid.” Sekido’s voice had lost some of its ire.

“Her name is Marron.” Krillin skipped forward a few images. “Here’s a shot of her first day at kindergarten. We were so nervous.”

“We?” Sekido asked.

Krillin moved on to a shot of Eighteen with Marron on her hip at the front door of their new home in Satan City. Marron herself took the next photo as Papa carried Mama over the threshold. You couldn’t see his face, but Mama wore a huge grin. Then came images of Auntie Eighteen cradling Seventeen’s newborn, of Marron staring in awe at her baby cousin, of Marron and the other Special Forces kids seated at a yellow plastic table at one of the group’s parties. Trunks and Goten wore sour looks at being excluded from the adult table, then brightened when Eighteen came to sit with them.

“You might not think it to look at her,” Krillin said. “But she’s great with kids.”

Sekido sighed. “What are these pictures supposed to prove?”

“That people can change, and the woman who visited your shop today is a very different person than the one who stole from you almost a decade ago.”

“You know her personally, don’t you?”

Krillin swiped to the last entry in the slideshow, the only one to contain a clear image of his face. Unlike the others, this was a video clip, recorded by Seventeen at Marron’s fourth birthday party. Krillin tapped play, and the sounds of the small family gathering filled the store. The video showed both her parents huddled close to her, holding hands and beaming as she blew out the candles on her cake—all by herself.

“Mama, Papa, I did it!”

Eighteen hugged her child without reservation. “You did so good, baby.”

Marron squealed in delight as Mama peppered her chubby cheek with kisses.

Outside, Eighteen’s stomach twisted in knots. She understood why Krillin would play the video, but hearing a private family moment shared with an outsider made her feel embarrassed and vulnerable. She hated it. Taking a breath to steady herself, she shifted position to watch her husband and the store owner through the display window.

As the video ended, Krillin returned the phone to its holster. Removing his glove, he held up his wedding ring. “Her name is Eighteen, and I know her very well.”

Sekido’s face darkened. “I guess that settles that. A cop isn’t going to arrest his wife for theft.”

“I couldn’t arrest Eighteen for theft if I wanted to. The statute of limitations expired two years ago, and her only crime today was breaking your phone. We intend to pay for that, by the way.”

“You’re conveniently forgetting about her stealing the hat.” Sekido crossed his arms.

“You mean the hat she was trying to pay for when you dialed the police?” Krillin pulled his glove back on. “My wife could have waltzed in here bragging about her theft, and you couldn’t have done a thing. But she tried to make it right and pay you back for what she stole.”

“By bribery.”

“By intentionally overpaying. She put down the wrong bills by mistake.”

“If your wife was so fired up about righting a past wrong, why the deception?”

“Because I was ashamed.”

Both men turned toward the door to find Eighteen standing there. She smiled apologetically at Krillin. “I got antsy.”

He nodded in encouragement and stepped back. The floor was hers.

She walked slowly forward, hands clasped in front of her. Despite her nonthreatening posture, Sekido flinched. She halted immediately and bowed.

Neither spoke for a moment. Then Eighteen said, “Do you have children?”

The man appeared bewildered, so she repeated her question. Finally, he said, “A son.”

“What’s his name?”

“Why should I tell you?”

Undeterred, Eighteen asked, “Would you do anything to make your son proud?”

“Of course.” He seemed offended she would even ask.

“I feel the same. When my little girl asked about these clothes, I had to look her in the eye and tell her Mama was a thief. I also promised her I would make it right, but I chickened out. I tried to ease my own conscience without facing up to my past. I was wrong, and for that, I can only ask for your forgiveness.” She stepped closer. “Will you please let me repay you for what I stole and for the phone I broke?”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that I’m the last person you ever stole from.”

“No, Mr. Sekido. I stole clothes and jewelry from a woman’s house the very same day.”

“And did you make things right with her?”

“I did. She’s now one of my best friends.”

“I have enough friends,” the man snapped.

Eighteen offered no retort, simply waited for him to go on.

“What if I still want to press charges”—he glared at Krillin—“for the phone?”

Her husband started to object, but Eighteen placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then we’ll respect your decision and remain here while you call the police. I’ll even lend you my phone to dial them.”

The store owner regarded the couple for a long while, scratching his chin. At last, he smiled and shook his head. “Yoshiro. My son’s name is Yoshiro.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s sooooo cute. Thank you, Mama, Papa.” Marron twirled in her brand-new cowboy outfit, laughing as the fringe on her vest swung about. A child-sized hat the same shade of red as her prized bandanna hung from a chin strap (or _stampede string_ as Mr. Sekido called it) around her neck. The bandanna itself was in its proper place tied loosely around her neck.

Krillin ruffled her hair. “You’re welcome, Firefly.”

She beamed before plopping the hat back on her head and scampering off to search the store for her new friend. “Yoshiro?”

“Marron, don’t run indoors,” Eighteen called, and her daughter slowed to a safer gait.

Mr. Sekido came to stand beside them. “Rambunctious, isn’t she?”

Eighteen smiled. “Thank you for being tactful.”

“Thank _you_ for all the business.” He shook his head in amusement. “Convincing your daughter’s entire class and their parents to hold a western day? I’ve sold more clothes this week than the last six months combined. Not to mention everything you guys have bought personally.”

“Your clothes are high quality.”

“Even if they aren’t exactly your style?” He grinned.

“They’re…growing on me.”

He laughed. “It’s okay. There’s no accounting for taste, right?”

She blushed, and Krillin pulled her close. He wore his own western gear, and Eighteen felt a thrill run up her spine at being held by him. The outfit had indeed enhanced their role play last night. And again this morning.

“Hey, guys, watch this.” Slipping behind the register, Sekido adopted a stern demeanor. “Yoshiro, could you and your friend come over here for a moment?”

She and Krillin exchanged a look, unsure what he was up to. When Yoshiro and Marron arrived, Sekido produced two stick horses from behind the counter, handing one to his son and offering one to Marron. Eighteen hoped her daughter would at least pretend excitement at such an old-fashioned toy.

Marron’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “Oh, wow. Mama, can I?” She practically vibrated with eagerness.

Eighteen nodded, and Marron squealed with joy, grabbing the toy and going off with Yoshiro to round up imagined bad guys.

Krillin grinned. “How much do we owe you for that?”

Sekido waved him off. “Consider it a gift. With all the new business, I probably owe you ten of those. Which reminds me.” He again reached behind the counter.

Krillin poked Eighteen in the side. “He isn’t actually going to give _us_ one of those things, is he?”

She shushed him. “Be nice.”

“Here we are.” Sekido placed a hat box on the counter. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

Curious, she did. “It’s—”

“The hat you paid for. The police returned it yesterday.”

Pulling the hat from the box, she looked at Krillin.

He tapped the brim of his own cowboy hat. “Already have one. Maybe we could track down the old man who tried it on that day?”

Marron and her friend trotted by on their stick horses. “Old man? Mama, did you buy a present for Grampa Roshi too?”

Eighteen knelt and hugged Marron. “I didn’t, but that’s a good idea. We’ll give it to him tonight at the celebration dinner.” Rising, she turned back to Sekido. “Would you and your son like to join us?”

He blinked. “Really?”

She raised a brow. “I know you aren’t looking for friends, but…”

Yoshiro looked up at him hopefully.

Sekido smiled. “Missy, we’d be delighted.”

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended not to name the store owner, since he’s only a walk-on character in the show and manga. However, calling him “the owner” and “the man” for several thousand words grew tedious. So, I named him in honor of Japanese Bull Rider Sekido “Mac” Makoto. The store owner’s son is named for no one in particular.


End file.
